Too Darn Hot (8 page)

NINE

S
kip always let me use the phone so I dialed the office from Blondell’s.

“Marty called ya,” Birdie said.

“He say what he wanted?”

“All he said was to meet him at Smitty’s ya got back in time.”

“And what time is that?”

“Three.”

I checked my ticker. Plenty of time. “Anybody else call?”

“No. We got no clients now ya had me tell em all to go away.”

“You didn’t put it like that, did ya, Bird?”

“Whaddaya take me for, a dumb bunny? I said what ya told me. Yer outta town.”

“Good. I probably won’t be back today, Birdie.”

“What if somebody needs ya?”

“I’ll call ya later, there or at home.”

“Sure thing. I’ll be home. Pete’s comin over for dinner. I’m makin his favorite. Pork chops and sauerkraut with potatoes.”

“Sounds good.” It also sounded hot.

“I’ll make it for ya sometime.”

“Swell.” I wasn’t sure why but I’d never been to Birdie’s apartment. I guess she’d never invited me.

“For a person who warned another person about the weather it seems that first person is stayin outside a lot today.”

“No choice. So long, Bird. Hope ya have a good dinner with Pete.”

“Thanks.”

Gloria Lane was next.

Gloria turned out to be a dud. I was surprised she hadn’t ducked out on me, but she said she wanted to get “this stupid thing” over with. She didn’t give me much more than Ida had. So I made it short and sweet.

I was gonna meet Marty at Smitty’s. Normally I woulda walked it, but the sidewalk was scorching and the air had that shimmer that made everyone longer and gave em blurry edges like looking through a screwy lens. At Twenty-eighth and Lex I went into the subway to get the train to Forty-second. Not much of an improvement. It was airless and roasting. The train came in and I got a seat. Right across from a soldier with one arm.

It felt like a kick in the stomach. This kinda reminder of the war broke my heart. Maybe we’d learn a lesson this time and, when this war was over, there’d never be another.

The soldier looked like a kid. Ruddy cheeks and blond hair, right outta high school. I didn’t wanna stare so I opened my book, but I couldn’t concentrate. I kept stewing about the soldier and what was gonna happen to him now. Did he have a girl waiting for him back home? Did she know yet? Had she seen him? How would she handle it when she did see him?

I took the last letter I got from Woody out of my pocketbook. There was a paragraph that got me where I live.

It’s scary as hell here, Faye. Everybody starts out tough and gung ho, ready for action, and then the truth hits you in the kisser. It’s hell on earth. Bullets whizzing past your ears. Kids being blown up right in front of you. And then the ones who lose a body part and are shipped to a hospital. You know their lives are over, in a way. I got to admit I don’t think I’d do too well without a leg or hands. Will you love me anyway if I make it back?

I folded it up and put it away. I couldn’t help myself from looking up at the soldier. He was staring at me. And then he smiled, like he was the happiest guy in the world. I smiled back, but I was still chewing over Woody’s words.

At Forty-second I got off and hauled myself down the sweltering streets. Smitty’s was on Forty-sixth and usually it felt like a hop, skip, and a jump to get there. Today it was like slogging through melted marshmallows.

Marty was waiting for me up front cause a dame alone in a saloon like this was a sitting duck for trouble. He steered me to a booth in the back. No ladies allowed at the bar even with an escort. I almost laughed thinking of Marty as an escort.

Not that he looked like a bum; it was
escort
was too highfalutin a word for him. Marty who was your salt-of-the-earth type.

He wore his hat inside or out. His brown hair was straight and a swatch of it hung over his forehead. An ever-present unlit cigar was clenched between his pearly whites and he always looked hung over even when he wasn’t.

“You wanna drink, Faye?”

“Kinda early for me.” I never drank before five. “I wouldn’t say no to an RC, though.”

“Lemme get ya one.”

He put his own beer on the table and went to the bar. There wasn’t any waiter service at Smitty’s.

He was back with my soda. “No RC. Coke.”

“That’s solid. So what’s up, Marty?”

“Everybody tryin to ID the John Doe, I thought I’d take another angle.”

Sometimes Marty did this for me without me asking. I was glad for any help he could give me. I had no problem telling Marty my clients’ names cause he was a cop.

“What angle is that?”

“The Turner angle.”

“And?” I lit one up.

“Seems Lucille Turner is on the outs with the old folks at home,” he said.

“Yeah, I know that.”

“But do ya know why?”

“No. Claire clammed up on that one.”

He looked like a little boy at Christmas. “Lucille had a baby.”

“A baby? And?”

“And she ain’t married.”

“Who’s the papa?”

“Nobody knows.”

“You said Lucille
had
a baby.”

“Yeah. She gave it up for adoption.”

“How’d ya find this out, Marty?”

“I got my ways.”

Marty never tipped me to his sources any more than Birdie did. He almost always got me good stuff, though, so who cared where it came from.

“So yer sayin that the parents don’t talk to her cause she had a baby without bein married?”

“Right.”

“Claire, too?”

“If she doesn’t sling the lingo with her I guess that’s why.”

Somebody must know who the father was. “When she have this baby?”

“A few months ago. You think it means anything, Faye?”

“I don’t know. Might.” I took a swig of my Coke. “Hard to see the connection.”

“Yeah.”

“Hey, Mitchum,” the bartender yelled. “Phone for you.”

“Be right back.”

As he scooted outta the booth I was already batting around what he’d told me and everything else in the vicinity.

Why had Lucille Turner visited Widmark and then stopped? The elevator jockey was mum about Lucille being pregnant so maybe she didn’t show and when she started to, she quit her visits.
Maybe
Widmark was the father.
It wasn’t
good for her.
That’s what Widmark said about the end of their get-togethers. Maybe that was exactly what he meant. It was cause she was on the nest.

What if I was right? Did any of this have to do with the missing Ladd and the corpse in his hotel room? I couldn’t make any hookup, but I felt there was one. If only cause Claire and Lucille were sisters. I needed to have a chinfest with Lucille soon as I could.

Marty was back. “Guess what? Yer Cummings guy came in early to ID the corpse.”

“And?”

“Private David Cooper.”

“Can’t say I’m shocked. I had a feelin that’s who it was.”

“Yeah. Me, too. Ya think Ladd knocked him off then did a Houdini?”

“Coulda. But why?”

“Some beef that got outta hand?”

“There were no marks on Cooper except the thumbprints on his neck. He was choked to death. Doesn’t seem like a fight.”

“Nah. Should be more telltale signs.”

“I guess the cops’ll find out more about Cooper’s life,” I said.

“Poor sucker. Ya wanna refill?”

“No, thanks. I need to see the Ladds. St. Moritz, ya said?”

“Right.”

“Think Lupino will let me use the phone?”

“Sure. C’mon.”

When I’d called, Mr. Ladd assumed I was a detective with the police, which is what I wanted him to think without saying so. He’d given me the room number and I was off to meet them.

It seemed a bit cooler so I set off on foot. I liked walking. It kept me strong and I got to eyeball John Q. Public, which kept me on my toes cause I’d practice my observing skills. I’d take in hair color, outfit, height, eyes if they weren’t wearing dark cheaters, and anything else that might be an identifying mark on a person. Then I’d run it past myself and see how many I could remember. Not the best system scoring yourself, but who else was gonna test me?

When I reached the St. Moritz, I was drenched. This wouldn’t help me impress the Ladds and I had time so I went into Rumplemeyer’s and snatched a table for two. There were as many fans going as there were customers. I coulda been dreaming but I thought I felt a sprig of cool air pass over my legs.

Rumplemeyer’s was known for its ice cream, but they had other desserts. I knew what I wanted the sec I saw it on the menu a waitress had handed me. I could feel myself drying off while I waited for my waitress to come back.

“What can I get you, dear?”

“A cup of joe and a Nesselrode puddin.”

“A cup of joe?”

What a phony baloney. “Coffee.”

“Oh, I see.” She looked like a lizard, a piece of pink tongue poking out for a moment. I guess it was a smile. And then she was off with my order.

I’d never been in this joint but, taking in the room, I noticed a lotta swells at the tables, some with kids, some not. The kids were eating ice cream, which is what I woulda had if I hadn’t spotted the pudding.

I’d never had this, but the delicious description sold me. And it was burned into my brain forever. It consists of cream-enriched custard mixed with chestnut purée, candied fruits, currants, raisins, and maraschino liqueur.

I wouldn’t forget that in a hurry.

“Here you are, dear.” She put a huge bowl in front of me. “And your joe.” She looked pleased that she’d learned a new word.

“Thank you.”

When she was gone I dipped my spoon into the pudding and slowly brought it toward my mouth, almost scared to try it. Almost. I guess I’d have to say it was one of the most delectable things I’d ever eaten and I was glad I was alone cause I wouldn’t have wanted to give anyone a taste.

I took my time, but not as long as I would’ve liked cause upstairs the Ladds were waiting for me.

They had a suite and we met in what looked like a living room, but a pretty small one. I shared a couch with Mrs. Ladd, and her husband sat in a club chair.

“I was just about to call room service for drinks, Miss Quick. Would you like one?”

I felt I should even though it was still early for me. “A manhattan would be swell.” I wondered how that would mix with my Nesselrode.

After he’d made the call I knew I’d better straighten out my identification. “Mr. and Mrs. Ladd, I think you mighta gotten the wrong idea about who I am.”

“You told us who you were over the phone,” he said.

“I said I was a detective, and I am, but I’m not with the police department. I’m a private investigator.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning somebody hired me to find your son.”

“Who?” she said.

Always the trickiest part. “I can’t tell ya that. It’d be unethical.”

They looked at me like I was accusing them of something.

He was tall and skinny with receding black hair that gave him a widow’s peak. His eyes were blue, like a cloudless sky, and his mouth looked like a scar. The clothes he wore were good ones. You can always tell by the tailoring. His shoes were black wingtips.

She was beautiful, like a movie star, a blonde—and it looked real, not something concocted in a beauty salon. Her lipstick was the color of ripe strawberries. She wore a daytime suit, a short gray jacket and skirt with black pumps.

“Claire hired you, didn’t she?” he asked.

“Mr. Ladd, I told ya . . .”

“Call me William.”

“I told ya it would be unethical to say who hired me.”

She said, “What’s the difference, William. Anyway, it has to be Claire.”

“Yes, you’re right, Jennifer.” He turned back to me. “Tell me, what kind of a name is Quick?”

“Kind of name?”

“Yes. Where’s your family from?”

“Newark, New Jersey.”

They both laughed but it didn’t sound real, more like they were doing the scales.

“No, no,” he said. “Originally. Were they born in this country?”

“Sure.”

“How about their parents?”

“Oh, I get yer meanin now. Both sets of grandparents came from England.”

“How nice,” she said.

William nodded in agreement.

I had no idea what that was all about. Did they expect me to ask them the same question? I didn’t.

“When’s the last time ya spoke to yer son?”

“He called when he got to the hotel. I suppose that was Friday.”

“And how’d he sound?”

“Perfectly fine. He was looking forward to his time in New York and seeing this girl, Claire,” he said.

“Did he tell ya he was goin out with the boys that night instead of seein Claire?”

“No.” They looked at each other, then back at me.

She lit a cigarette.

“That’s odd,” William said. “Charles said he was in love with this Claire, and was all excited about seeing her. Who were these boys he was going out with?”

I named them.

“We know George, but not the other chap.”

“David Cooper was the murdered soldier found in Charlie’s room.”

“Why didn’t the police mention that?”

“When did ya talk to em?”

“Around one.”

“He hadn’t been identified then. George Cummings ID’ed him about an hour ago.”

“You’re not suggesting that Charles had anything to do with the boy’s murder, are you?” William said.

“Nobody knows.”

Mrs. Ladd sat up straighter at the end of the couch. “Well, I’m here to tell you that my son couldn’t have killed anyone. He’s the most gentle and sweet boy you’d ever want to meet.” She started to cry.

“Now, Jennifer, don’t get yourself all worked up.”

Whenever a girl had a tear in her eye, men thought she was gonna get hysterical. Or
worked up,
as he put it. Why shouldn’t she cry? Her son was missing, and maybe he killed someone. Sounded to me like something to cry about.

There was a knock on the door. “Room service.”

“Enter.”

The waiter carried a round tray. There were three drinks and hors d’oeuvres that looked good. Ladd stood, directed the waiter where to place each drink, then tipped him.